I'm a Doctor, not a Detective
by Amy.G.Pond
Summary: The Doctor regenerates from the twelfth into the thirteenth, and looks just like Sherlock Holmes, who is missing, along with fourteen others. The Doctor and Sherlock are confused for each other, but The British Government soon finds out that The Doctor is in fact "the code 9," but Sherlock is still captive as The Doctor. Will The Doctor, UNIT, and Scotland Yard find him in time?
1. Prolog

It was a dark room with the only light being two dim, blue, lights and one orange light in between them, all of them nearly two meters in the air facing each other in a semi-circle.

"THIS IS THE LAST KNOWN VISUAL OF THE DOCTOR," informed the orange light as two new white lights to its upper right and left flashed to each syllable.

The room suddenly filled with the light of a transparent screen, revealing the figures belonging to the lights. They were all roughly two meters tall and the same general shape: a twelve sided prism base with four half sphere bumps stacked on top of each other for each side, a cylindrical center with a toilet plunger shaped robotic arm and a weapon sticking out, and a dome-like head with two light bulbs jetting out from a forty-five degree angle and a wire with several small white disks close to the end and a camera lens at the tip. The center one had the base color of white and was distinctively fatter than the others who had the base color of bronze. On the screen there was a face of a young man. He had a long pail face, a long thin rounded nose, small flat lips, a large rounded jaw, sharp cheekbones, sea-green eyes, and curly red hair.

"I know that face," A smooth, young Irish voice spoke softly from the shadows.


	2. Chapter One

Hello, readers! Sorry for the wait, and I probably should warn you: most of the chapters will be spread apart; it's kind of hard to balence this on top of homework. If you notice a star over a word or phrase, that's because it's a reference to an episode that might not be known to you, so I named it at the bottem of the chapter; I will continue to do this. Obviously I don't own the shows, that's why I'm writing this, not a script. Anyway, hope you like it, and please feel free to comment. Thanks!

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><p>Fire. The room was eaten away in a flame that shot out from its source: a dying man. His limbs were spread wide and his head was tilted back as that deathly flame erupted from his arms and head. The man was screaming in agony; his blue owl-like eyes wide in fear and pain, and glazed over in death. The flame disappeared and the corps was brought back to life, but with a new face. This face had the façade of youth. In fact, it was the same face that showed on the Dalek's screen.<p>

The man stopped screaming and collapsed to the floor, curling in upon himself, clutching his flaming hair. The center console shot our sparks, and flames roared all around him. The TARDIS was in ruin all around The Doctor.  
>He picked himself off of the floor and spun around in dazed confusion. Noticing his new body, he cried, "Blimey, these feet are smaller than the last ones! How am I ever going to run with rubbish like this?" He looked up and realized the console room was in flames. "Are we crashing?"<br>Scurrying off to console, he studied the controls, not remembering how to fly her. "Oh, come on! Sorry old girl; I can't help you this time," and he was thrown to the wall. He gripped onto the groves that "the round things" provided as the TARDIS tumbled through the air, streaming towards the planet's surface, whatever planet it was. _Good thing I put these back in here last time I changed the desktop..._ he thought. The fire spread and caught on his clothes, but he couldn't risk freeing a hand to put it out. He could feel the flame slowly eating away at his flesh, but he continued to ignore it. The pain was just becoming unbearable when the TARDIS jolted violently and came to rest, thankfully right-side-up. The Doctor immediately released his grip from the wall and patted out the fire.  
>Coughing on smoke, he sputtered, "Need some time alone to repair yourself?" She replied with a pained moan in agreement, and he scrambled out the doors into the streets of London.<br>"Well, of course I crashed here!"  
>The TARDIS had landed in a vacant back alley amongst blue garbage bins. On the right hand side, the there was a seven story building made of old brick, the lower windows were barred, and there was black piping on the outside. On the left, there was a two story concrete building with white gridded windows. Looking down the building towards the main road he could see a sign for the London Underground. He began walking towards it when he distracted by a distant and muffled noise to his left.<br>Clang, clang.  
>He stopped.<br>Clang, clang.  
>He looked left.<br>Clang, clang.  
>He found the source.<br>Clang, clang.  
>It was a manhole.<br>Clang, clang.  
>He scanned it with his sonic screwdriver and read the readings. "Now, that's not the underground," he said in a slightly scared voice and added silently, <em>nor maintenance workers.<em> He opened the door and descended down the plywood staircase into the darkness.  
>Reaching the bottom, he leaped down the last few steps into a puddle of icy water on the smooth concrete surface of what was a small, square, maintenance tunnel. The water felt blissful on his singed shins. He took a moment to take in his surroundings. The tunnel extended for about a mile both left and right, dimly lit with sickly yellow fluorescents cased in yellow plastic half-cubes with dead insects trapped in them and dangling off them, and the floor was littered with puddles everywhere. Not knowing where to go, he twirled around and clomped to the left.<br>His footsteps ricochet off the tunnel walls, and his boots splashing in the puddles made the thrilling tune of danger. His head tingling with adrenalin, he broke into a silent sprint down the chamber; there was something wrong here; he could feel it like a migraine.  
>The strange clanging lead him to an archway branching off shortly in front, the first escape of this tubed prison. Dodging through the doorway, he braced his hands in front of him to cushion his impact on a slick, wet, icy, stone wall of a small cell. The cell was empty.<br>The metallic beating pulsated like the King Vampier's heart*, pounding painfully against The Doctor's eardrums, but he did not cover his ears. Slipping out his sonic screwdriver, he scanned the perimeter, and was surprised to find a small square of the wall in the back left corner of the room that apparently didn't exist. Naturally he was curious, and suspicious. Hesitating for half a second, he slammed his palm against it, and he was blinded with a brilliant, electrifying light. And then, there was nothing.

* * *

><p>Black smoke swirled in his mind, clouding out the metal heartbeat. But the plumes cleared, and it stabbed its cold blade rhythmically at his ears once more. Slowly, and with a lot of effort, he forced his eyes open, finding himself looking down a dark, square corridor. <em>That's not right<em>, he thought, _the tunnel I was in was arched._ He propped himself up and gasped in pain. His entire body was burning. _As though I haven't had enough of that today already._ Standing up, he scanned his surroundings. He was in exactly the same spot as where he blacked out, but the wall opposite of the doorway was no longer.

"Interesting; a hidden door to a secret passageway. The question is, where does it lead to? Danger? Probably," he spoke softly to himself. Letting his curiosity get the best of him, he cautiously frolicked down the new corridor before settling into a discreet stride.  
>In contrast to the previous tunnel, the walls were fresh, polished stone, and it was clear that they were not going to fall down anytime soon. The floor was still slick, but not with water; it was also polished to perfection. There was no lighting other than the fluorescents behind him, but those were soon blotted out; for the wall rematerialized, closing off any means of escape. Dread spouted inside of him, and so he gulped and pulled out a torch from his breast pocket. The snap of the switch rebounded off the walls, whispering, "<em>Danger, danger, danger<em>," and the narrow abbess ahead flooded with focused, white light. He stepped forward, following the border of light and dark.  
>As he descended through the darkness, he soon discovered that it was not an endless straight stretch, but a network of hallways. Upon hearing the source of the said noise from down a hallway to his right, he deterred from his previous path, continuing his journey. He wound through the hallways, and was led to a spacious, central room.<br>The room was cylindrical in shape, its walls a duel grey metal, with another door directly across the other. Stretching up and across, a bronze arch stood, now murdering The Doctor's ears. The right side struck him with **clang**, and **clang** the left struck as well. For a moment, he relished the silence, only to take the blow of **clang**, and **clang**; he was losing control of his composure. His hands drew up his sides on their own accord, and **clang**, they clasped to his ears. **Clang**, his weight fell on his knees. His body curled in upon itself, shielding him from the continuing blows. And yet, he was refusing all help from instinct, and picked himself up in agony.  
>Looking up, he studied the said arch to see what it was all for. He noted the way it curved into the arch: it wasn't a rounded top, but rather went straight up and across, a box, much like the fresh hallways he came through. <em>Perhaps it's a generator, or a weapon, he<em> thought, preferring the former. _I wonder who put it here?_  
>Raising his voice above the assault, he called: "Anyone about?" No answer. He strode across the room and called again: "Anyone about?" Still no answer. He was about to venture further in when a young woman appeared through the other doorway, followed by an elderly man.<br>"Why, hello there! I'm The Doctor. And who might you be?"  
>They tilted their heads in unison, and a cracking noise could be heard. Eyestalks sprouted out of each of their foreheads. They raised their right hands, and energy weapons sprung from their palms. More like them pored out of the door.<br>"THE DOCTOR HAS ESCAPED. EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"  
>The Doctor turned and ran, just barely dodging an energy beam that collided with the wall now behind him.<p>

* * *

><p>Catching his breath, The Doctor stood in an elevator of the closest police station: the New Scotland Yard. Getting out of the compound was easy enough, all he did to get through the materialization door was look for a square of space that his screwdriver deemed nonexistent, and being that he really didn't want to be nocked out again, he found his bag of jelly babies in his pocket and threw it at it. Lightening struck it, and it burned away, but the door dematerialized. When. He reached the TARDIS at the surface, she wouldn't let him in; she was still healing. The Doctor apologized for have to leave her so close to danger, and at her mental nudge, he ran through the street, finding himself here.<p>

The elevator bells softly numbered off the floors he passed as he contemplated on what he had just witnessed.  
>Ding:<br>_What was that huge arch?_  
>Ding:<br>_Why were the Daleks underground?_  
>Ding:<br>_They have better security than that. Why was it so easy to get in?_  
>Ding:<br>_I just saw eight Dalek puppets. How many more have become there victims?_  
><em>Beep<em>_. _The car came to a halt, and the doors parted open. He straightened his singed grey blazer with a brief tug, and confidently strode forward, heading towards the Detective Inspector's office. Something caught his eye; he stopped and peered through a glass window to an office. There was a board on the wall with pictures with many of the faces he had just seen underground. Standing in front of the board was a young woman in business suit. She had frizzy black hair, semi-dark skin, a lavender dress shirt on, a blue blazer, and deep purple pants and flats.

Wanting to ask her about the pictures (he was here to find out about recent disappearances, and possible use their telephone to contact UNIT), he stepped through the open door.  
>"Curious, isn't it?" he pipped up.<br>She immediately spun around, wearing a face of complete shock and disbelief. "Freak?"  
>"What?"<p>

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><p>*State of Decay<p> 


	3. Chapter Two

Again, I am so sorry for getting this in so late. But good news! Now that it's summer, the chapter uploads will be more frequent.

Amy out!

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><p>"How are you even here? Was that whole thing a ruse, or something?" The woman said accusingly.<p>

"Wh-what?" The Doctor sputtered.

"Oh, stop acting like you haven't an idea of what I'm talking about. You always have done crazy things just to get attention, or to occupy yourself, _apparently_," she sneered.

"Excuse me?" He was starting to get defensive.

"Greg!" She called down the hallway, "The freak is in my office, _safe and unharmed_."

"_What?!_" said the muffled, distant voice of the man he assumed was 'Greg.' The man popped his head through the door, then sputtered in disbelief incoherently. He managed to spit out, "You bastard!"

"Have I met you two? Although I should say, 'have you met me?' It is very hard to meet people in the right order."

"What?" they questioned flatly in unison.

"Have I not told you that before, or will not tell you that later? The TARDIS does often have a bit of trouble getting me where I want to go."

"How the hell do you know about the TARDIS?!" Greg demanded.

The woman, turning to him in utter confusion, squeaked, "The _what_?"

"My TARDIS, it stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space," The Doctor responded automatically.

"_Your TARDIS?_" Greg gasped, "What do you mean by _your_ TARDIS, Sherlock?!"

"'Sherlock?' I'm sorry, I believe you have mistaken me for someone else." He paused, and started fresh: "Hello, I'm The Doctor. And your name must be Greg." He abruptly shock his hand and then pivoted on his toes, and facing the woman, hands on his locked knees to be at her level, he asked, "What's your name?"

In a measured, professional voice, she answered simply, "Sargent Sally Donovan," she continued on, ignoring his handshake, "and assuming, key word there, that you're not Sherlock Holmes, and you call yourself 'The Doctor,' then your name is Doctor..." she waved her hands, motioning him continue.

"Just 'The Doctor.' Hang on, did you say 'Sherlock Holmes?'"

"...yes?"

"Are you insane?" he blurted out.

In response, she shot him with a scorching look of pure fury and hatred. He twitched his eyebrows up.

"Okay, then. Glad to hear you're not. I mean, I like crazy: they make life interesting, and all, it's just, I have a tendency to be around them all the time," he rambled. It was Sally's turn to raise her eyebrows, and she put her hands on her hips as she shifted her weight. The Doctor cleared his throat, and straightened his blazer as he slammed a dignified look on his face. "Anyway, I came here to ask you lot about a few things. Where can I find the Detective Inspector here?"

"That would be-" Sally stopped, realizing that Greg was still staring at The Doctor in disbelief, frozen.

"You're The Doctor? _The_ Doctor?"

The Doctor held the silence for a bit before answering with his eyebrows raised in slight frustration, "Yeah. Sorry, thought you'd've gotten that bit."

"Sir, please let me say, it is an honor to meet you," and he saluted.

The Doctor, rolling his eyes, said, "Oh, please. Don't salute."

"Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?!" demanded an extremely confused Sally Donovan.

"I'm The Doctor, man with two hearts, and in your terms, an alien, even though I have spent more time in this country alone than the sum of your ages times ten. I occasionally help UNIT out bit; I'm their scientific advisor. I travel through all of space and time, and, for a while now, I have been searching for my home planet that is currently stuck in a pocket universe. Any questions?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"You asked me if I was insane when I called you by your name, Sherlock Holmes, and yet you expect me to believe to believe all that rubbish about you. What's your game, freak?"

The Doctor gaped at her, completely offended, and spit out, " 'Rubbish'?!_'Rubbish'?_! I summarize my life in a few sentences, and you call it 'Rubbish'?! How would you feel if you told me that you work at Scotland Yard, and I called your life 'rubbish', and you, 'freak'?! You know, I was going in here to give you a huge lead in your recent serial disappearances, of corpses or living people I don't know, but I think I will just leave you empty handed and work with UNIT exclusively!" And with that, he pivoted to the door and swaggered out the way he came.

"Good job, Donovan. An absolutely wonderful job. You just lost us best chance at solving this case, which we now know is extra-terrestrial."

Sally responded, "Has the whole world gone mad?! First, he comes in here, claiming to be an alien, and now, you act as though it's part of your daily life!"

"It is." The Doctor called behind himself, not even turning his head around to look at them. "And it's part of your daily life as well, you are just apparently not aware of it, despite the Battle of Cannery Wolf, and the planet being dragged across the galaxy."

"Please sir, more are disappearing by the day! The sooner we get these bastards in custody, or off the planet, the better," pleaded Greg.

"No, no, I've made my choice. UNIT is better equipped to deal with them, especially when they have me at their side and a Lethbridge-Stewart in charge." He was about to hop into the elevator, but he collapsed to the floor, shuttering. The two officers immediately rushed to his side.

His trembling ceased, and he reclined his head with his mouth opened in a small 'o', letting a wisp of fiery mist escape.

He relaxed after that (although collapsed might be a better verb to use), and upon seeing their worried and surprised looks directed towards him, he said, "don't worry, it's perfectly normal. Post-regeneration-trauma. There needs to be an acronym for that," he rambled on an off-note.

Greg simply nodded. This did not go amiss by Sally.

"Am I the only one here who thinks that this entire situation is anything but normal?!"

"Yes," The Doctor stated simply.

"Shut up, freak!" she snapped. "Greg, what the hell is going on?"

"He's The Doctor."

"Yes, thank you, but what does that even mean? And how do you know he's not Sherlock?"

It was The Doctor who answered, "Ever heard a 'code-9' over your radio? Ever wondered what it meant?"

She stared down at him lost in thought._I have heard "code-9" over the radio before. I did ask about it, but was told I find out when it became relevant. That was Greg! My God, have I been kept in the dark about this bloke?!_ She came out of her trance and answered him, "Yes."

"Alright, getting somewhere. That's me."

"You're the code nine?" she asked, still hesitant to believe him.

"Yes, that's me. Hello!" he wiggled his fingers at her.

"But that still doesn't tell me who you are!"

"No, I suppose not."

"Then who are you then? Doctor who?"

He thought about how else he could explain who he was to her before answering, "I'll let you be the judge of that."

There was a momentary silence. Sally really not expecting that answer from him. She studied the strange man, searching for anything that might give a clue. It was then she noticed his clothes. They were a cross between modern and Victorian era styles: he wore a dress shirt without a tie, and a Victorian men's vest with what seemed to be a gold chained pocket watch in its pocket. Overtop he was wearing a grey blazer, matching his loose pants. He was wearing a pair of black dress shoes that obviously didn't fit him, and she didn't recognized the brand. On top of his pocket watch, he was also wearing a watch on his left wrist. And the most puzzling of all of his clothes were ripped and burned in places, but he was unscathed. Nothing matched up, and nothing made sense.

"I need to know everything you know about the disappearances. It should tell us something about what the Daleks are up to."

Greg jerked his head back in surprise. "Wait, what? The _Daleks_ are involved?"

"Yes. Didn't I already say that?"

"No."

"Oh well, PRT I guess. Yeah, I had an encounter with some of their puppets earlier today."

"Wait, hang on, what is PRT?" Greg asked as Sally wondered the same.

"Post-Regeneration-Trauma," he said, as though it was obvious.

"You just made that up," Sally stated.

"Yup," he said, popping the 'p'.

She snorted and shook her head, eyebrows raised and smirking.

Greg barged in, "Right, the disappearances. What do you want to know about them?"

"Everything you have."

"Right. We should probably go to the conference room," he said, and led the way, Sally and The Doctor trailing behind him.

* * *

><p>Greg splayed out fourteen printed profiles on the center table. "So, on the overview, the victims range in occupation, if they have one, age, gender, creed, romantic standpoints, and background. Their estimated locations that they vanished from are scattered across London, but don't go outside of the city. We cannot find anything that connects them, and they are all listed separately on the missing list."<p>

"But you think they're connected," The Doctor stated. "Why?"

Sally answered, "Six months ago, we had a very sudden upsurge in unexplained disappearances."

"Other than that, there is nothing. It's not enough to officially say they're connected,–"

"–but enough to raise suspicion," The Doctor finished off for Greg.

"Exactly," both officers confirmed.

The Doctor asked, "What about security footage of their disappearance points and times? Anything there?"

"_Apparently,_ they all happened to glitch at those times, and no one will take it seriously," Greg explained.

"Well, there's a surprise," The Doctor breathed out sarcastically. Sally frowned. He continued, "What about their IQs? I'm not asking for a pattern; I need the raw facts."

There was a moment of silence as Greg awkwardly rocked in his shoes as he looked expectantly at Sally. When she finally saw him, she gave him an exasperated look, knowing that he wanted her to fetch the stats. Frustrated with the current treatment she was getting from her boss and friend, she turned away, giving up.

Sinking into her office chair, she groaned in frustration, and printed the missing persons info sheets. Instead of running back like some obedient hunting dog, she decided to do a little research. _Who was this 'Doctor' anyway? What right did he have to come into Scotland Yard and start giving orders, with no previous notice? Why did Greg not recognize him? Surely there must be some ID photos of this guy. _She opened up the database and got to work.

To say the least, she did not expect what she saw: the man _was_ really extraterrestrial, and had fought hostile extraterrestrials for earth. He had fourteen different faces on their record, the last one being the face she just saw, and could change them through a process called 'regeneration', where his body would change every cell in his body in order to survive an otherwise fatal injury.

He had be involved in many cases that she had only heard about, but hadn't investigated because a specialized group had come in, which was UNIT. They had been always been put off as a hoax of terrorist attack, but now she knew the truth. _What a fool I've been, allowing the vale to be put over my eyes, _she thought.

"Sally, where are you with those papers? You should have them by now…" Greg called, breaking her from her research. She locked her computer and bolted to the printer, and burst into the conference room with the papers.

"Most of them do not have exceptional intelligence, but this one you might find interesting, _sir,_" she retorted out of habit as she handed The Doctor Sherlock Holmes' sheet.

"Rassilon's rod!*" he breathed when he saw it. "Is this really what you think I look like?"

Both Sally and Greg were taken aback by this, for many reasons. To name a few: '_he was startled by that, not Sherlock's IQ?_', '_he thinks it's appropriate to say that now?_', and:

"Do you not know what you look like, or something?" Sally asked with an accusatory tone.

"Oi, it's been a busy day."

Greg raised an eyebrow to that, and Sally snorted. The Doctor simply spread out the rest of the papers out on the table and read.

Silence.

"So, I'm not ginger?"

Greg, unknowing of what was to come, answered, "Yes, yes you are."

"What? YES!" He made celebratory high jump in the air. "Finally, _finally, _I'M GINGER!" He let out a loud whoop, and started dancing around while the other two stood there in silence, too stunned to do or say anything. Curious coworkers peeked in before scurrying quickly away.

After calming down a bit, The Doctor asked very intently, "Who was the last to see him?"

Greg broke out of his stunned position. "Wait, what? Oh, that would be his closest friends, John and Mary Watson."

"Alright, shall we go ask them a few questions?"

Sally stated the obvious, "Well, they have already told us everything they–"

"I am rather busy, but I'm sure Sgt. Donovan would love to come along." Greg jumped in.

"Wait, what?"

"Alright, then. Let's go!" The Doctor squealed in excitement, grabbed her by the hand and started running towards the elevator. Sally gave Greg a murderous look before being pulled away.

"Have fun!" he laughed as pulled around the corner, out of sight.

* * *

><p>*The Ribos Operation<p> 


	4. Chapter Three

Dr. John Hamish Watson sat in his armchair watching his first born child sleep in the arms of Mary, his wife. His wife who lied to his since the day they met. His wife who shot his best friend. His best friend who was now missing.

He shook his head. He couldn't let himself blame her for something that wasn't her fault because of her past, especially now that they had a baby. But he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see his friend again, and when that would be.

His thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell being rung again and again rigorously. His child woke up and started screaming at the noise while Mary desperately tried to calm her and protected her little ears.

"Would you get that, Love?" she tiredly asked.

John, his heart melting for his beloved, responded, "Of course," and landed a peck on her lips and the baby's forehead, who continued to cry. He a small apologetic smile to Mary as the doorbell continued to ring.

"Alright! I'm coming, you can stop now!" he shouted at whoever was at the door. He opened it.

To say the least, he was _not_ expecting what he saw: Sherlock bloody Holmes was standing on the other side of the doorway with an uncharacteristic wide, sloppy grin slapped on his face. John barely registered that Sgt. Donavan was standing behind the detective looking incredibly tired and angry through the rage that was as fiery as his insensitive friend's hair. '_Hang on, why is it red?'_ he wondered briefly, but dismissed it immediately.

Grabbing the man's shirt, John pulled him roughly inside, stared into his soul very angrily, and growled very simply, "Why?"

Confusion crossed to man's face briefly, but he recovered quickly and asked quite innocently, "Do you normally greet visitors in this fashion? Quite unique and wonderful. It's a shame you didn't invite my assistant in– now you mention it, do come in Sally!" At that, she cautiously stepped into the house in silence as he went on, "There you are. Now, what was it you were going to ask me? Ah, yes: 'why'. But 'why' what? Why do we exist? Why does the universe go on forever? Or, why does it always rain in England? You know, I knew this wonderful chap who would go on and on about that. Always so shy otherwise."

The man continued to speak, but John wasn't listening; he was too pissed off. Seeing red and without thinking, his fist sped towards the detective's face, but was blocked by his forearm.

"I dear say," he went on, "how rude of me to not make introductions! I am the Doctor (how do you do?), this is Sally, you must be John, and I believe this is your wife, Mary, in the back. Now, we've come to ask the two of you a few questions, it that alright?"

Taking a moment to control his temper, John addressed him as calmly as he could, "Sherlock, I told you the first time you did this in the restaurant. _It's not funny._"

"I see where the confusion is. I am not Sherlock Holmes, I just happen to look very much like him," he stopped for a moment when he saw John's disbelieving face before turning to Sally, "Err, Sally, you tell him, you looked at the records."

Confusion washing over her face, she asked, "How did you know about that?"

"You're an intelligent Sargent who works for Scotland Yard and you just met a mysterious man that your boss is giving a high amount of respect to: of course you looked me up!"

_'__If it wasn't for the bit where he called me smart, he would sound exactly like Sherlock,' _she thought before explaining to John in a way that she would not sound too much like a lunatic, "The Doctor is a scientific advisor from a section of the UN. Those disappearances are more serious than we originally thought."

"Yes, and I see that you would like some more proof. Here, my ID," the Doctor contributed as he flashed his psychic paper in front of the other doctor, who snatched it to inspect it closer.

"I've never heard of UNIT."

"You have now. I can't say much about it to you; it's classified."

"Right," John said. "Why are you here?"

"He'd like to ask you a few questions about Sherlock," Sally interjected.

The Doctor added, "If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Before John could respond, Mary spoke from behind him holding their crying baby girl, "You've already been that. Come in." She bounced her gently and calmly shushed her with no prevail.

The Doctor, his face lighting up at the sight of a baby, asked, "What's her name?"

"This is Lily."

Seeing her struggle to try and get her quiet, the Doctor offered, "Here, I usually find that this works," and with all the gentleness in the world, he gazed into the baby's eyes, brought a finger his lips, and shushed her. She immediately stopped crying and blissfully stilled.

Both parents astonished, Mary exclaimed quietly in fear she might start crying again, "How _did _you _do_ that?"

The mysterious man merely smiled knowingly and sloppily pressed a finger to his nose.

"Never mind."

The party seated themselves in the living room.

"So, I understand that your friend is a detective?"

"Yes," John responded. "Are you another person who hasn't heard of Sherlock Holmes?"

Offended, the Doctor spoke defensively, "Of course I've heard of Sherlock Holmes!"

"Then why did you just ask that?" Mary pointed out.

"I just _did_!" The Doctor's defense earned a scoff or chuckle from the other three. He pouted, then asked with all seriousness, "What was the case he was working on before he disappeared?"

Grimly, John answered, "The disappearances, though you've probably already guessed that. He sent me a text saying that he suspected that the Tube was connected to it somehow, but he didn't explain why when I asked. I haven't heard from him since."

Startled, Sally added her part, "Why did you not show us that text when we interviewed you?"

"Yes, that _is _a good question. Why didn't you?" the Doctor interjected.

"That's where it's a bit odd," John answered, "About ten seconds after he sent it, it was wiped; no signs of it ever existing. I nearly thought it was my imagination."

"And you checked for it under your wireless account online?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes."

"Defiantly Dalek intervention. But why would they do that?" he asked himself.

"Maybe they didn't like the idea of me taking this to the police," John said, pointing out the obvious before wondering, "What's a Dalek?"

"I've been wondering the same," Sally added.

The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "The Daleks are a genetically engineered race bred to feel only hate. They are ruthless, logical, and will kill anyone or anything that they consider to be inferior, which is basically everyone. Their goal is universal domination," he said, then under his breath he added, "How many times do you _stupid_ apes have to be invaded by them to realize that they _exist!_"

"'Universal domination'?" John said, "You talk as though there's alien life. And I know for a fact that there isn't."

"Do you?" the Doctor asked challengingly. John went silent.

Mary, thinking about what he said under his breath, asked, "What did you mean by '_you_ stupid apes'? Are you implying that you're not human?"

"Well…"

She silenced him with a look and went on, "Also, you imply that we have been invaded by them before. If that's true, how did we not know about it?"

"Ah… that's a very good question, and the closest thing I have to a valid answer is this: you're thick."

"Basically, you don't know." It was not a question.

"Yup," the Doctor said, popping the 'p'. "But I do have several theories that are too difficult to explain so don't ask."

John, not believing any of this, said, "'Not human'. But that would mean that you're–"

"–alien, yes," the Doctor interrupted, "Now, could we please get back on topic?!"

"No, we cannot, because I am not going to answer questions to a mad man." John stated.

The Doctor stepped back, hurt flashing over his face briefly before pushing it behind his smiling mask. Everyone else went silent: the women because of the awkwardness of the situation, and John because he was too intent on getting this maniac out of his house with his glare.

"John, Mary." Everyone turned to look at Sally. She was so silent they had almost forgotten about her. "I know he may seem mad; I thought so too when I first met him today. But I looked him up in the records, and I can tell you right now that he is telling the truth."

But John wasn't convinced. "And what happened last time you trusted the records _Donovan_?" he spat. "Because I clearly remember watching my friend fall off a certain hospital roof when his reputation was destroyed by people trusting a hacked database, and don't tell me that this is different, 'cause it's not. I think that last text I got from Sherlock demonstrated that quite well."

"You think that this is Moriarty?" she scoffed.

"Well, what else could it be?" he struck back.

The Doctor, thinking that it would be completely appropriate to join the conversation again, offered, "Well, going off of the internet being hacked alone, I could give you trillions of possibilities."

Annoyed, John turned to the Doctor. "What."

"Yes! I'll name a few: Silurians, Van Statten's former employees, several earth governments,–"

"Stop," John commanded. He took a deep breath. "Look, just… leave."

"John," Mary said, pulling her husband aside, "I think we should help them."

"Why?"

"Because if this is the Doctor, I know for a fact that he can work this out," she whispered sternly.

"How do you do you know that?" he replied in the same fashion.

"I met him once before in my… previous life. He wouldn't remember me though," she answered. "Now will you listen to me?"

He gave her a short, firm nod and turned to the Doctor. "What do you need to know?"

"I need to use your computer," the Doctor said with a businesslike tone.

"Right," John nodded, but stopped and frowned to himself. "What?"

* * *

><p>The Doctor sat down in front of John's laptop after he logged in for him, and got to work. Sally watch him for a while, but got bored and started wandering around the room, occasionally glancing at the framed pictures, most of which were of John's and Mary's baby, but there were a few of their honeymoon, or of whom she assumed were family friends. Of those she saw a man with burn scars on the left of his face in uniform, a man dressed like a professor with brown hair behind his large forehead and wearing crooked square glasses, and Greg having a drink with the couple and Sherlock. It was all just so… normal.<p>

One picture caught her eye: it was of Sherlock's silhouetted figure standing in front of his Baker Street flat's window in his pajamas and brown housecoat, poised gracefully playing his violin, and the light genially casting on his apparently peaceful face. There was something else underneath that façade, but she didn't have time to contemplate about as the Doctor triumphantly shouted, "HA! Got it!"

"Got what?" John asked from the kitchen where he was sharing a private conversation with Mary who was still holding a sleeping Lily before Sally got the chance to ask it. She turned around to see the Doctor looking quite nervous, pulling at his hair and sitting in the center of a ring of a notepad, an open phonebook, the laptop, and a large, marked up map of London. She blinked.

He turned to John and said, "Your friend is incredibly clever, especially considering that he didn't have the resources that I have. He was absolutely right about them using the Tube. All of the victims were commuting at the time they disappeared."

"How did you figure that out?" John asked.

"Well, I used the phonebook to find their mobile numbers and recovered their text history from their server, and most of them said that they were taking the Tube in their last message. Others put it on Twitter. Anyway, that means that the Daleks are using the underground but that doesn't come as a surprise to me."

"Why's that?" Mary asked.

"I found the Dalek base underground by the St. James's Park station earlier today. Anyway–"

"Hang on," John interrupted, "You were at their _base,_ and you didn't do anything!"

"Yeah, sorry, I was a little busy dodging high-energy beams their puppets were firing at me."

"Puppets? You mean their subordinates?" Sally asked.

The Doctor grimaced. "In I sense, yes. But not in the way you're thinking. You see, they take people and insert eyestalks and weapons, like their own, and remove their personalities, memories, everything that makes them who they are, from their minds and save them into their designated file in the Dalek telepathic web. They make them like un-clever Daleks, bound to do the Daleks every order, at least when their activated."

"And when they're not?" she asked, dread sinking into her chest.

"They look and act just like us, without any memory of what happened to them," he finished off sadly.

Sally pointed out, "So those they could be everywhere and we wouldn't know about them."

"Yup," he said, popping the 'p' again.

They all took a moment to take this in.

"Is that what they did to Sherlock?" John broke the silence.

The Doctor answered quickly in an attempt to give them some hope, "I don't know. But there is a chance that they didn't."

"Oh?"

"Well, due to his high intelligence, they might have converted him into a full Dalek–"

"This keeps getting better and better."

"–or, they thought he was me, and in that case they killed him instantly, or they for some reason kept him alive thinking that he can help them in their plot to rule the universe, for some odd reason."

"Not a lot of hope then," John said.

"But there is some!" the Doctor jumped in enthusiastically. "And believe me that is the best news you can have when it comes to the Daleks."

John bowed his head, then held it up high with no emotion on his face. Sally had her brow furrowed in thought, Mary have an expression that was impossible to read, and the Doctor had a small encouraging smile as he looked at the others.

"Right," the Doctor broke the silence, jumping up out of his seat, "I should go and contact UNIT, and Sally needs to get back to work at the Yard. The two of you, you don't need to worry about any Daleks retracing my interference back to your house, I redirected the proxy server to themselves."

"I'm going with you," John objected.

"So am I," Mary added.

"No, you're not," the men said simultaneously.

"You have to look after Lily," John added.

"No, I'll just ask Janine to look after her."

"Janine! You think that's a good idea?" John objected, thinking that she wouldn't be the best with children.

"Yes! She loves kids."

"Neither of you are coming with me," the Doctor said sternly.

"Us," Sally corrected.

"What?!"

"And we better include DI Lestrade in all this, it's his case," she added confidently.

"We're still coming," Mary put in.

"_What?!_" The Doctor sighed. "I guess I'm outnumbered. Right, let's go gang… team… um, comrades?"

They all laughed at him and marched out the door. John scanned the street in confusion. "How did the two of you get here?" he asked.

"_He_ made me walk here."

"All the way from Scotland Yard?" Mary asked, astonished.

"Oi, it's good exercise, not to mention it's a wonderful, lively,–"

"Wet," Sally offered.

The Doctor ignored her. "–day in London!"

They laughed again. "Right, you better come with us in the car," Mary said.

They all piled in: John and Mary in the front (Mary was driving), and the Doctor and Sally in the back with little Lily in her car seat between them.

After they had dropped Lily off at Janine's and were heading off to UNIT headquarters by the Doctor's instructions, Sally leaned over and asked him, "Why did we go to their house if you didn't learn anything important?"

"Quite the contrary, Sally, I learned some very important information there," the Doctor said knowingly.

"Like what?" she asked.

"Well for one, the Daleks are sulking away in the shadows and are not attacking outside of the Underground."

"That's public transport and the tunnels aren't that big. How have they not been seen? Did they dig their own holes, or something?" she asked.

"Probably, knowing the Daleks."

"And what else?" she said, feeling that something more important was coming.

"And," the Doctor said with all importance and hope in his voice, and a huge smile on his face, "We know there's a life that can be saved."

She nodded and turned forward again as she thought, '_So, is this who the Doctor is?'_


	5. Chapter Four

**AN**

**I'm so sorry to those of you that are still reading this for making to wait for about a year and a half. Although, I am hoping to use a new plan that will give to you chapters more often. However, the chapters will be much shorter that usual. For example, this chapter was supposed to be only the beginning of Chapter Four, but I decided to give you what I have at the moment. I hope you understand.**

**Enjoy!**

The four pulled up by the London Tower in the Watson's slick black car with Lestrade close behind.

"So, why exactly are we here?" asks Lestrade.

"I need to work with UNIT on the case (trade information, use their lab, work with people who aren't so unbearably ignorant and can a quarter keep up with me, so forth), whereas the rest of you are tagging along, which for some reason I am allowing."

The Doctor casually scanned Lestrade, looked unsurprisingly at the results, and tucked it back into his blazer. Lestrade gave him a puzzled look and ask, "What was that about?"

"He did that to the rest of us on the way here," said Donovan.

The Doctor in his defense explained, "Just making sure that none of you are Dalek puppets. It would be really bad if an enemy spy got an escorted tour of UNIT HQ. I'm sure you know what I mean from your military days, Dr. Watson."

"Well, I don't see how that would happen in the first place," said a confused John.

The Doctor pulled out his psychic paper and pushed it in front of the UNIT solder's face at the door, and they were lead inside through the ancient stone hallways towards the central room. The blond woman in the center of the room turned around with a slightly surprised look on her face.

"Doctor, I was not expecting you. And from the looks of you, you just regenerated. I hope we don't have to lock you up in the tower to keep you from running off and doing something stupid," she said in a calm, level tone.

"Hello, Kate," smiled the Doctor. "Science still running the military, I see?"

"Yes," she replied before addressing the others. "Hello, I'm Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, Head of Scientific Research at UNIT, though I'm sure you already knew that." She then went back to the Doctor. "You certainly have a lot more companions than usual, Doctor."

He paused for moment, finger raised, looking for the right words to use. "We need to talk."

She nodded. "Right this way."

The others tried to follow, but the Doctor turned and said, "You might not to sit through this. It will be long, and boring, and you'll want to anything but this, perhaps play ant-gravity mini-golf, and everything will go way over your heads."

"Hang on!" said an exasperated John, quick to pick up on an insult. "You're telling us not to attend a meeting that will determine whether or not our world will be overrun with Daleks, with the entire population exterminated or worse, all because you think that we won't be intelligent enough to understand? Just because we're not all super-geniuses like you, it doesn't mean we're stupid."

"Wait, what? I never said anything about your intelligences or even slightly eluded to you being stupid. I was simply stating the fact that you didn't have any background information on what we're talking about, therefore would not be able to understand what is being said. It would be like trying to invent new recipes with bananas in them with someone who's never seen fruit before. Only not."

John gave a brisk nod, paused, and then made a face of puzzlement when he realized what the Doctor actually said. Lestrade, on the other hand, slightly and slowly shook his head, ending with a "Wha'?". Mary raised an eyebrow, while Sally was expressionless.

"That hasn't stopped you before," stated Kate. "Why now?"

Panic flashed across the Doctor's face, before looking calmer than usual. He looked straight into Kate's soul and said, "Come on Kate! You've known me long enough to know that I change every regeneration." He did not break eye contact.

Kate understood. "Michelson, give our guests a tour of the Black Archive."

"Yes Ma'am."


End file.
